Multidimensional
by Alquamor
Summary: There are lots of sides to every issue, but which one is right? Helga/Arnold, not romance, may leave it as is or continue writing; if I continue it _may_ become romance. What do you think? Please R&R. Rated for imagery and language.


_Not_ your standard fic. Oh, and I don't like episodal referencing, so I'm not going to go into any detail on Arnold's memories.

Disclaimer: I don't own Hey Arnold! I also don't have cable. If I owned Hey Arnold!, don't you think that I would at least have cable so that I could watch it?

Chapter 1: So Much Has Changed

Years had passed, and Arnold walked the streets of his old home. There were so many memories here... he shook himself inwardly. _I must not lose my focus._ He surveyed the abandoned roads, as the ruins of buildings long deserted crumbled slowly around him. But there were rumors that the city was not entirely deserted – that somewhere in the heart of it rebel survivors lurked, awaiting their chance to once more attempt a coup. It was his job to find them, and to destroy them.

He walked down another empty street, and came face to face with a dilapidated old building that he recognised. He walked up to the door as though drawn to it; he turned the door knob and the entire door broke off in his hand. He moved, as if in a dream, to the place where he hoped a string would still be hanging. It was. He pulled, and a set of stairs lowered smoothly down, as though untouched by the premature age which the bombs had bestowed upon the rest of the city.

At the top of the stairs was a room. Not just any room: his room. The silence pressed in upon his ears, making them throb with pain. His bed was there, and the walls, but the decorations were gone. He knew what had happened to them.

~*~*~

"_Are... are you sure, sir?"_

"_Yes. The boy must come with me."_

_Never before had Grandpa sounded so helpless. He wanted Arnold to stay but could not make him._

"_He's just an ordinary kid."_

"_Not to us."_

_I looked up into the man's eyes. Only in fifth grade, and they were taking me. Where? And for what purpose? These government types, they never said. Always silent as a stone._

"_His scores on the tests were excellent. He has great potential. And besides, you really can't stop me."_

"_I want Grandma," I whimpered, unsure of what was happening. I had never felt so helpless or so alone._

_The man in the black suit knealt down and whispered in my ear. "I'm going to show you something better," he said. "Your parents."_

_At that I stiffened, and I would not even allow Grandpa to give me a hug goodbye. My parents... alive!_

~*~*~

Arnold was startled out of his trance by a cat meowing outside of the broken window. _There aren't supposed to be cats here. What would they live on? How would they survive?_ Another cat, farther away, gave an answering caterwaul. Realisation struck Arnold like a knife. He spun around and raced out of the building, the gun he had been issued trembling but ready in his hand. He never used it. As he flew through the front door, his arms were pulled behind his back and forced painfully upward.

"Drop the gun," whispered a dangerous voice. Arnold obeyed.

The pain lessened, and Arnold was able to twist his head around enough to see his attacker. He didn't recognise the man; he had black hair and pale skin, with eyes like slate, hard, cold, and cruel. He was a little bit taller than Arnold, and seemed to have no qualms about the state his prisoner was in, with arms bent and almost broken behind him.

Another figure emerged from the darkness. "Hellfire wants to see him first," he said. "Why, I can't imagine."

"Hellfire's not stupid," said the first man menacingly.

The second man dropped his voice and whispered, "Demon, just kill him now! You can say he got away, or that I came too late. This guy is dangerous."

Arnold smiled at that. Oh, if only they knew just _how_ dangerous he was! There was no way to teach them, though; the man who was apparently Demon ignored the messenger and tied his hands with some rope, which he produced from a satchel at his side. He held a knife to the back of Arnold's throat with one hand, holding the tied arms in the other, and said, "I take Hellfire's orders. I'm not going to kill you unless I have to. But if you try to escape, or even move suddenly, that's a have-to situation. Got it?" Without waiting for a reply, he continued. "Good. Now move."

The other man looked sulky and murderous, but fell behind Demon and continued caterwauling into the night. Along the way he was answered by other mews and purrs, wails and hisses, varied and yet all containing a certain menace. They passed by places that Arnold should have known, should have missed, but towards which he felt now only hatred. This city that he had loved, _it_ held and protected the demonic one that was responsible for all of this: for the war, for the deaths, and now for his capture. This one that was called Hellfire, he would have to die. And Arnold knew how he would die: by the hand of the son of the ones he had murdered.

On, now, to the innermost parts of the city. It was a region that Arnold had never been to before. While he still lived here, all the way back in 5th grade, it had been controlled by the toughest of the high school: the druggies, the goths, and those few who could push, shove, and beat the hell out of those standing in their way. No one else was welcome. Even now it stood ominous, like a patch of black on an already dark night sky. There was a glimmer of light there, though. Someone had lit a fire, and Arnold was pretty sure he knew who.

As he and the men 'accompanying' him drew nearer to the fire, whispering voices could be heard. They spoke in a strange language; he couldn't understand it. There seemed to be a little English in there, and some of it struck chords in his memory, suggesting that perhaps it was slang from his childhood, long forgotten. They didn't use slang anymore, where he came from.

Now they were just outside the circle of light that was cast by the fire. Around it sat a circle of people, in patched and frayed dark robes and hoods. Demon prodded Arnold's neck gently with the knife, then swept him and sent him sprawling into visibility. The hissing voices ceased. Another one, deeper and richer, a little high for a man's voice, not cold but cool, spoke now. "Leave us. Stay here, Demon. Torture, back to your post." The messenger bowed and left, a little sulkily. 

Arnold scrambled to his feet, but was pulled back down into a sitting position, back facing the wall, by one of the departing members of the circle. "Stay there," the person hissed, and he could tell by the pitch of the voice that it was a woman. "You're luckier than most, if you got this far. Maybe you'll get out of it alive, although Hellfire's not known for mercy." She shoved him roughly against the wall, then turned and walked away. Now Demon was on his left, although the knife was back wherever it had come from, and a tall figure in an even darker cloak than most stood between him and the fire.

"Arnold," it said, in a voice that sent shivers up and down the captive's spine. The flames flickered and spurted, sending up sparks. Somewhere overhead, a cloud of dust or debris covered the sickly moon. It took a step closer.

"What?" It was defiant and definite. He didn't care how Hellfire knew his name, and so he didn't ask.

"I always knew this would happen. I always knew that some day we would meet, and that only one of us could live. My life or yours. I just wanted you to know that I've been dreading this for a long, long time."

Dreading? He was in power, he was in control of the situation. Arnold said nothing. The figure came close, within a meter of where he sat, bound and helpless. A change in the silhouette, and now a dagger could be seen, its edge wavy, its blade kris. Hellfire crouched down, and looked the prisoner in the eye. From under the hood Arnold's eyes could be seen, although it was not mutual; the hood hid the entire face. Then the figure did something very unusual, something that would have been very stupid if it were not for the degree of trust placed in Demon: it sat down next to and a little bit forward of the captive, and held the dagger's edge to his throat.

The arm movement was sudden, the precision impeccable, but in the act of threatening Arnold Hellfire made one crucial mistake – the hood which had covered the face of this enigma fell backwards, and the firelight allowed the prisoner to see his captor's face. It was a bit of a shock.

Hellfire wasn't a he, but a _she_.  
A very familiar-looking she.  
Long, light hair that disappeared inside of her robe. Glinting, piercing blue eyes. An intimidating, terrifying face.  
Like a memory from long ago...  
"_Helga?_"

{A/N: Ooh, you have _no_ idea how tempting it was just to stop the chapter here, on a cliffy...}

The blade almost slipped in her hand and she bit her lip. "I was hoping you wouldn't remember me."

"Oh, I remember," he said darkly. "You're one of the things that got me through my training."

"Really." It was cynical, but almost hopeful.

"Yes. I kept on failing my more violent minor missions until I willed myself into believing I was fighting _you_. After that, I could kill every time."

Ouch. Helga's eyes narrowed, and she slid the kris blade precisely across Arnold's neck, making sure that in spite of the waves the cold steel threatened him at every moment. "Yes, that sounds like something they'd do," she said. "Turn you into a killing machine. Take away what had made you – you, what had made you different from the others."

Demon watched in awe. He had never heard anything about Hellfire's past, or even her real name. "Helga," he mused, but a quick murderous glance from his superior shut him up. She then turned her eyes back to Arnold.

"And you, gullible little prat that you always have been, probably believed everything they told you. Probably followed them from the start. What did they offer you in return for your blind obedience? I know the answer. They offered you death, to deal out or to take."

"They gave me freedom," he responded defiantly. "They offered me a lawful life, in which I do not have to run like a dog to the slums of a ruined city." The implication was obvious.

"They did not give you freedom, they gave you security. And lawful?!" She spat on the cracked pavement. "Do you call a life of senseless killing lawful? Shouldn't the law of the heart triumph over the law of those power-hungry bastards who usurped their positions, and now strive to achieve dominance over all the peoples of the world? The war isn't going to go on much longer. And once it's done, you're going to be unnecessary. You'll be out of a job, out of government favor; in fact, they'll see you as a threat. Neither of us are stupid, Arnold. But only I can see. Open your eyes."

"Why are you trying to convince me?" he asked scornfully. "Don't you have some people to murder? Some laws to break?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Helga murmured, and she pushed the dagger lightly against his throat. "And it would be a lot more applicable. I kill only in self-defense, unlike you. But you have found this place, you know to much. You are a threat now."She opened a small vein, not the jugular, but a little stream of blood flowed down his neck. Suddenly she stood up, and with amazing force pulled Arnold up with her and threw him away from her. He stumbled, and she cried out, "Go! They will not harm you if you go only _away_ from this place; take one step in this direction, though, and you can consider yourself dead."

Arnold didn't quite understand what was happening, but he stumbled away into the night, all pretense of bravery lost. He was frightened. He was confused. All he knew was that he had been given a second chance.

Back in the alley, Helga turned to a stunned Demon. "Round them up," she said. "We leave at dawn."

A/N: Oooh, should I continue this fic? Please R&R!


End file.
